


Tell Me I'm Pretty

by missandrogyny



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, they order pizza and shenanigans idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 07:20:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missandrogyny/pseuds/missandrogyny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac decide to order pizza.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me I'm Pretty

**Author's Note:**

> Okay I wrote this the day before my English exam and put it on my tumblr. I'm just gonna put it here.
> 
> [This post ](http://jehass.tumblr.com/post/58125233998)is to blame.

"I’m tired," Courfeyrac says, flopping down on the couch. "And I’m hungry."

They’ve been working non-stop in Enjolras’ flat since this morning, organizing and writing drafts for the pamphlets, fixing their permits, etcetera just to ensure that the rally in two days will go smoothly. There is a slight pounding blooming behind Enjolras’ eye, and Combeferre looks no better. 

Enjolras sighs, and rubs a hand on his forehead. The rally is in two days time, and they’ve still got a lot to do, the pamphlets still aren’t enough, they’re still missing a few permits—

"We have been working since this morning," Combeferre’s words break into his thoughts, and Enjolras shakes his head, clearing it. "I think at this time, we should take a break."

"Or maybe get some food," Courfeyrac grumbles from Enjolras’ bed. He has his face mashed into the arm rest of the couch, and his long legs are dangling off the other side. "Can we at least order pizza?"

Enjolras sighs. Combeferre is right, as he always is, there’s no use continuing working when they’re this tired. A break sounded heavenly just about now. “Alright, let me just get the phone—”

"No need!" Courfeyrac says from the couch, before sitting up and lying on his back. He grabs Combeferre’s laptop from the floor, pressing a few buttons quickly and typing at high speed. "You can actually order pizza online!" He crows. Combeferre smiles, and Enjolras has to suppress another sigh.

"Fine," Enjolras says. "Order whatever pizza you like. But we’re working until it arrives."

Courfeyrac makes a sound that sounds like a dying cat, and begins to click a few buttons, only stopping to ask what toppings they wanted. Combeferre and Enjolras continue working, murmuring quietly about what to do about the pamphlets and what specific information to put. 

They proceed this way until Courfeyrac snickers, mutters something like “do they even read this part” and proceeds to type at high speed, before closing the laptop and handing it back to Combeferre.

Combeferre raises an eyebrow at him, and Courfeyrac just shakes his head, before taking one of the drafts of the pamphlets and giving his opinion on it. 

They continue working for almost thirty minutes, stating their opinion and revising, occassionally scrambling to get to the phones they seem to have misplaced when they ring. Combeferre and Courfeyrac are incredibly helpful, and they get some work done before the doorbell rings.

Courfeyrac flops back down on the couch with a shout of “Finally!” and Enjolras sighs, and stands to open the door.

When he gets the door open, the delivery man looks up, and his eyes go wide in shock. He clears his throat a bit, a faint flush creeping up his neck, before handing the receipt. “Sign please,” he says, his hands shaking.

When Enjolras makes a move to get the receipt, he accidentally drops it, causing him to curse out loud, before scrambling to pick it up again. 

"That’s not very professional," remarks Enjolras and the man barks a bitter laugh. He hands the receipt over, properly this time, and Enjolras signs it, before handing it back. 

The man sticks it in his pocket, and Enjolras takes out his wallet from his back pocket, counting the exact amount before handing it to the delivery man. There must be something wrong with the delivery man’s motor skills, because his hands shake and he almost drops the money as well.

"Are you okay?" Enjolras asks, confused, because what the hell is wrong with this man?

"Fine, fine!" The man says hastily, counting the bills and tucking it into his pocket. He hands over the pizza bag, which was resting on his arm the entire time. "It’s just that, um…." he looks away. He takes a deep breath.

"Did you want me to say that?"

"Say what?" Enjolras asks, even more confused. 

"I, uh, to tell you you’re pretty?" The man takes another deep breath, and turns to face him and this time, he’s much more composed. 

"What?" Enjolras asks, completely lost. From behind him, he hears Courfeyrac mutter "oh shit they actually read that bit."

"Because I can, if you want," the guy is smirking slightly now, more in control. "I mean, I should, to be professional. It was on the instructions."

"What?" Enjolras asks again.

"Okay," the man says, completely ignoring Enjolras. "Let’s start over. Hi, I’m Grantaire, your delivery man. And you are very pretty."

Enjolras is utterly lost.

"In fact," the man says, continuing, "You’re not only pretty, you’re beautiful. You look like you were carved from marble, from the sculptures of Michaelangelo himself. You also look like a Greek god reborn, like Apollo has deigned to walk this earth of mere mortals."

Enjolras feels his face begin to heat up. From behind him, he can hear Courfeyrac stifle a giggle.

"If you were alive during the Renaissance, I believe Da Vinci would have wanted to capture your likeness on canvas. You could have been the Mona Lisa. No artist wouldn’t want to paint that face, myself included."

"What are you doing?" Enjolras asks, finally finding his voice.

"Following instructions," the man says, smirking. "Although I believe I am performing beyond the call of duty itself. You’re very beautiful, even if your face is turning this shade of red—"

"Enough," Enjolras says. He looks to the pizza in his hand, which he’d forgotten he was still holding. "Now if that is all—"

"Not quite." the man says, smiling a crooked smile. "Can I at least have your number?"

"No." Enjolras says, slamming the door in his face. He makes his way to where Courfeyrac and Combeferre are, the former trying to make himself as small as possible on the couch, the latter looking up at Enjolras, no doubt finding this just as amusing. Enjolras drops the pizza on Courfeyrac’s lap.

"I’m sorry," Courfeyrac mumbles to his couch, yet Enjolras could still hear the laughter in his voice. "I didn’t think they actually read that part, I just…"

"Let’s not talk about it anymore," Combeferre interjects, ever the peacemaker. Enjolras loves Combeferre so much. He could marry Combeferre. Without Combeferre, he probably would have already strangled Courfeyrac and be in jail for murder. "Now, Enjolras, what do you think of adding this to our pamphlet?"

Enjolras sits down beside Combeferre and begins to debate their options. Courfeyrac stays in his position for a few moments before joining them on the floor, opening the pizza in the middle.

Enjolras loves his friends. Even if Courfeyrac is a little shit sometimes.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://jehass.tumblr.com)!


End file.
